Eye for an Eye (An Owen Day Thriller) by Rachel Ford

Author:Rachel Ford [Ford, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Deputy Austin Wagner, 9:10 AM

I dialed Owen Day’s number after my conversation with Travers. He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t leave a message.

I’d called enough. Either he was choosing to ignore me, or he’d jumped into the lake with his phone in his pocket, or left it on the roof of his car and drove off, or something like that – something that meant he wasn’t actually getting my calls.

I decided I’d pay him a visit instead. So I wrapped up what I needed to at the office and headed out. I got to his site just after nine, and at first glance, I thought I’d hit paydirt. The SUV was there. The bikes were there. The picnic table was set with plates and chips and hotdog rolls.

A little early for chips and hotdogs, I thought. Then again, I didn’t have kids, so what did I know? Maybe they’d insisted on hot dogs for breakfast. Or maybe Mr. Day hadn’t packed enough breakfast items, or one of the kids had left the cooler open overnight. Maybe racoons had gotten into things. Whatever the reason, it was a hotdogs for breakfast kind of day.

Which meant they were there, because the food hadn’t been eaten yet.

I parked at the end of the site and got out of my vehicle. I didn’t see anyone, but I supposed maybe they were in their tents still. Maybe getting dressed for the day.

I glanced around. Two prepared plates sat on the table beside a little camping grill. Someone was going to be disappointed: the third plate, and its roll and chips was on the ground, carried off by wind probably.

“Mr. Day?” I called.

No answer. No shuffling from inside the tents, no curious scrambling to see who it might be, not even any furtive whispers. No, “Oh no, it’s him again.”

Just the silence of a calm morning: gentle breezes and happy birds and busy insects, all going about their business.

I took a few more steps into the site. Gravel crunched under my heels. I knelt by the plate with its scattered contents. And I frowned. The plate was one of those white paper deals: disposable, but better for the environment. No Styrofoam or non-degradable materials.

The problem was, this one had already started the degrading process. It was soaked and mushy, as if from morning dew. So were the chips – not quite as soggy, but oddly wet to the touch. The hot dog roll, by contrast, was hard and crusty, like it had spent a long time in the open air and gone stale.

I left them where I found them and moved to the picnic table. The other plates followed the same pattern: soggy chips, wet paper, and stale rolls. I lifted the lid on the grill. The interior was cold and laid out with shriveled wieners.

I set the lid back and glanced around the site again. Something was wrong. Something was off.

Day’s vehicle was here. He’d had only one, because he was the only adult at the site.

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